Ptichka is going out tonight, which means that I get to cook the poultry that's been marinating in lemony-peppery goodness all afternoon. Originally Ptichka was going to grill it. Now I'm going to put it in the oven because I don't like lighting the grill. I do have detailed instructions for lighting and using the grill, if I decide to go that route. I probably won't, though. I asked Ptichka, "Don't you think I should be supervised when I use the grill?" In response, she laughed. And laughed. And then laughed some more. While I am quite funny in person, I don't think that she was responding to my self-deprecating wit. I think her response means that I should indeed be supervised, which is fine by me.
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